Ulster Workers' Council at 50: Civilian Perspectives - Henry Sinnerton
10 years ago, on the occasion of the 40th anniversary of the Ulster Workers’ Council strike (15th - 28th May 1974) I co-organised a conference at Queen's University Belfast. The conference brought together a range of speakers from academia and those with lived experience of the strike period.
Over the next two weeks I'm going to post some of the transcripts of the speakers from the conference to mark the 50th anniversary of the UWC.
Today I'm sharing a contribution from my late friend Henry Sinnerton.
Henry was a teacher at Orangefield Boys’ Secondary School in east Belfast through much of the worst of the Troubles and later wrote a biography of one it's alumni, David Ervine - the late former UVF man and PUP leader.
“My abiding memory is of absolute determination to go to work. No one was going to stop me getting to my place of work, despite threats and menace quite clearly in the air, at that time, which could fall upon not just others but myself as well.
As a teacher in Orangefield I witnessed too many young, impressionable lads led astray, misled by the bile and hate spewed by Paisley, and William Craig and his ilk, of Vanguard, at their frightening Nuremburg rallies in Botanic Gardens, young guys, working class for the most part, expendable in the Unionist cause, that was their station in the political scheme of things, while their ‘betters’ went home and watched on TV the resultant mayhem these dupes, and dopes, went out of their way to create, for my catholic neighbours and fellow citizens.
And thus, having experienced all that, in May 1974 I am ordered to stay away from my place of work. But I have no betters. Workman Avenue, the Springfield Road, Broadway, Grosvenor, above all my parents lived this with me: I have equals. Here were fascists coercing me.
In the end it was no big deal, simple really. Either I lived up to the way I was brought up, or caved in, self-respect in the gutter. And the decision made itself. And so on that morning of Monday 20 May 1974, I walked out over our doorstep just after 8.00am, leaving at my normal time, absolutely determined, determined absolutely to go to my work, and I did what I usually do to control my nerves when faced by tension, or apprehension, or feeling insecure, I kidded myself I would know the outcome by ten o’clock, or tomorrow, and this dreadful situation would be clearer, maybe all over.
I drove down Dunmurry Lane and picked up Roland Davidson, our Art teacher, as usual at Graystown Avenue, top of the Malone. No problem, road is free. Over Shaw’s Bridge, along the dual carriageway, past SuperMac – this is great nothing’s going to happen – through the lights at the Junction with the Cregagh – we’re sailing by this time – up the hill and down, with the Castlereagh traffic lights in sight…
BANG! That was when the carriageway sunk in a trice, in the distance, under a mass of men rushing out of the Clonduff estate on the left ahead, swarming over the right of way, stopping all traffic, turning drivers out of their cars, and blocking the road. Naïve hope was torpedoed. I felt heavy with dread now. Swiftly, I turned left off the dual carriageway into a leafy street, quiet and deserted, to park my car in a safe place. And there was no going back. This was the challenge that was lurking all along, sooner or later it had to happen, and I would go as far as I could physically go to Orangefield Boys School.
We gathered our things from my car, and set off. Fortunately, we met three colleagues round the corner who were as determined as Roly and I, but there was none of the usual banter between friends. This was grim, and we knew it, but all agreed we were going to our work, unless.....Well, really we hadn’t given any thought to consequences. It was a shock to see a huge barrier blocking the whole road, except for a gap on the extreme right of the pavement which allowed one person to pass through. This barrier was massive. You could not see over it, nor through it. It was frightening how the atmosphere had changed from almost normality to a feeling of danger. We should have known Belfast couldn’t keep up this crippling nervousness.
Our side of the barrier was deserted as we five crossed over to go through the narrow passage.
‘What’ll I do with this van, sergeant?’ we heard from the other side. ‘Move it, corporal!’ ‘Where will I move it to, sergeant?’ ‘Just... just... corporal.’ ‘Will I move it over the road, sergeant?’ ‘Well, just do what you.....corporal.’ ‘Would it be better if I left it here, sergeant?’ ‘No corporal, drive it away.’ ‘Right sergeant, where to?’ ‘Up towards The Green, corporal.’ ‘An’ will I leave it there, sergeant?’ ‘Well, no, that depends, corporal...’ ‘No orders then, sergeant?’ ‘Ah fer fuck sake Geordie, move the fuckin’ van!’
Even such bizarre comedy could not crack the tense atmosphere. We did not laugh as we passed the hooded sergeant and the masked corporal, for fear Laurel and Hardy might revert to resentful thugs. Anyway, we were too uptight to appreciate such military levity.
We got through, and arrived at our workplace, to learn a colleague had not been as fortunate. He was one of the drivers I saw turned out of their cars by the Clonduff mob earlier. I went into the gents and washed my face. For the only time in my life I knew what it was like to be in a cold sweat. I looked in the mirror and saw this ashen face. It really was one helluva a scary escapade. Other colleagues arrived as best they could. Two came by train from Bangor and walked in from Sydenham station. One drove up though Orangefield Park, the ranger chasing after him furiously, because he could not get past another barricade on Ladas Drive. Many walked in. Others drifted in all morning, but few pupils were about. And that set the tone for the rest of the week. No classes as such.
Those pupils who did turn up were kept together in the Central Hall while we got on with admin tasks, or planning. The exam season was upon us and we had preparations to make. And that was how each day passed, though as the week went on, more and more pupils arrived, chased back into school by the UDA because they were a nuisance in the streets for the paramilitaries. We went home and came in the next day for the rest of the week. At home, like the rest of the community we had to cope as best we could manage, with all the deprivations served upon us by our paramilitary brethren.
Living in Dunmurry I drove round surrounding farms for milk and eggs. With no electricity we heated our one year old daughter’s bottle on an open fire, but everybody was in the same boat. No need for me to recount in detail my deprivations when yours were just as severe.
Orangefield Boys’ School’s experience reflected similar upset in all schools. We were no different. No thought was given by the politicians or paramiltarists as to how pupils would be affected in their exam season. I suspect they did not know. If they knew I doubt they cared. I suspect, too, if the young boys had not caused trouble for them in the streets then exams for a whole year group might have passed them by. This was a real threat, which loomed larger as each day limped past.
The Belfast Telegraph headline of that Monday screamed ‘many city schools forced to close.’ Things were chaotic after the UWC called for all schools to close. A BELB (Belfast Education and Library Board) statement said ‘because of low attendances secondary schools had mostly closed, though reports were that in some areas of south and east Belfast schools did manage to operate fairly normally’. Head masters reported high attendance of staff and pupils – which astonishes me today.
The next day the Irish News reported CSE exams due to be held that day and Wednesday 22nd were postponed until early June. The Department of Education called for co-operation to facilitate pupil attendance but it was a matter for individuals in light of circumstances in their area. By Thursday 23rd circumstances had deteriorated to such an extent that the Belfast Telegraph and Irish News reported GCE practicals in Science were postponed to early June. So dire was the situation plans were being drawn up for teacher’s assessments to replace those exams.
Friday 24th education authorities seemed in a state of desperation. The Department of Education, according to the Belfast Telegraph, advised those teachers who have difficulty getting to their own school because of transport problems, should present themselves at their nearest school, while in the Irish News the Department, in an appeal to teachers, was anxious schools should continue to operate as normally as possible. But, also on that day, the Newsletter appearing to be more in touch with the improving reality which we knew in Orangefield was changing rapidly for the better, printed a statement from Mr Basil McIvor, Minister of Education, that the use of teacher assessments of students whose A-Level exams were being hampered by the Strike was being reviewed. By the following Monday we knew the crisis in schools was over, and could get on with our real work.
So, what to make of it all? I offer no grandiose insights, draw no earth shattering conclusions, except to stress many of us went to our place of work, undeterred by intimidation, and buoyed by like-minded people. Certainly this was no Selma to Montgomery march in 1965, nor NET BLANKES segregation in South Africa We simply exercised our right as free citizens in a democratic society to respond civically to pressure from illegal forces, fascism.
Perhaps some of our pupils learned that lesson as they returned to school past the bandstand in the park nearby.”